Dear Diary – Day Twenty Seven

Oh my, what’s going to happen?

All I can keep thinking of is...

Dear Diary – Day Twenty Six

Having been pronounced fit to stand trial I was brought before Mistress Eleanor’s court.

The charge was simple.  I was accused of being a sissy.  Hearing this I almost felt relief and when asked how did I plead I, perhaps a tad too proudly, pronounced I was a sissy.  Thinking that would be the end of it I was surprised when Mistress Eleanor announced that we would be the judge of that.

The first witness was Maid M.  She confessed that she used to like teasing me by working around in just her bra and panties and chasing me and trying to kiss me.  I smiled at the memory and then cringed as she said how disgusted she was that I had taken her light blue panties and fishnet stockings and worn them.  How did she know that?

The next witnesses were a set of girls who complained about having to wear uniforms that were either see through, especially when wet, or that had skirts that the wind would blow up with unrelenting ease.  Again a smile came to my face as I remembered the happy days, but again it turned to horror as they each said how violated they had felt when they saw me looking up their skirts and dresses.  I thought I had been discrete, but obviously they had seen me.  I had kept careful records of what colour panties they were wearing each day.

Next came my first wife.  She told the court how much she loved me, before going on to say how I had never been able to give her an orgasm.  I was about to say that was because she never let me go down on her, but I knew I was not allowed to speak.  I felt bad knowing how inept I had been as a lover.  It then got worse as my first wife recounted a string of sexual perversions I had indulged in.  I was shocked by the detail she went to in describing them. I also realised she had not told anyone till now.  I felt bad.

Then there was Miss H who said how said how grateful she had been that I had let her stay with me.  I knew not to smile as I guessed what was coming although how she’d known about me wearing her bra and panties when she left for work each morning I couldn’t fathom.  I’d been so careful to take them from the dirty laundry basket.  Miss H also told the court about how I would lift up her skirt causing her deep embarrassment and humiliation. 

Then came M&M who had more tales of skirt lifting, knicker sniffing and pantie wearing.  I had to take their word for it as I am sure I would have done it if I had the chance.  

By now I just wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.

Then there was Mrs S who said how nice I was, but now that she’d heard these other testimonies she changed her mind and said I was a vile, disgusting creature.

At this stage I thought I was getting off lightly, but then had to listen quietly as my ex-wife went through a very, very long list of my failings on the domestic front.  I thought this was most unfair, but she had evidence to back up each claim and I was totally damned.

Next and in what I thought was highly improper and irregular, the jury, which consisted of all the ladies who had given evidence, were asked to give their verdict.  Without a pause and in total unison they said guilty. 

Judge Eleanor said clearly I was a sissy, but much worse, a depraved, perverted, disgusting, miserable slimy wanker.  I blushed red and wanted to apologise, not that it would do me any good, too late now.  Still, I felt it could have been worse, they didn’t know about Ms J, Ms D, Ms P or others.

Judge Eleanor announced that my sentencing would be tomorrow.  

Let me guess, it’s going to involve being strung up by my balls.  

It’s a fair cop. 

Dear Diary - Day Twenty Five

Stuck in this hospital bed there is not much I can do.  My arms and hands are so fixed that I can’t even reach my little bit, not that I would ever dream of touching it or diddling my little clitty, but it would be nice to know that it’s still there.

All I can do is worry.  What if my little itty bitty clitty never works again?

It was while I was worrying about never being able to enjoy a good wank, that a lady doctor came in.  Her face was covered in a surgical mask and I immediately thought the worst, but she held a clipboard rather than a scalpel.

After a few pleasantries, obviously keen to demonstrate her bedside manner, she got down to business.  “Time for some tests.”

I gulped, not wanting to be tested out of fear of failure and its consequences.

The bed was adjusted so I could observe the bandages being removed.  I closed my eyes tight.

Latex gloved hands manipulated my flaccid member, pulling it out, pushing it back, peeling away my foreskin, so that when I opened my eyes my clitty was there for all to see.  

It seemed smaller, if that was possible, and though it looked red and raw it didn’t hurt.  I looked expectantly at the Doctor hoping she would say something positive.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you to imagine some situations and will note your reaction.  Ready?

“Yes Ma’am” I replied, hoping that my politeness would get her on side and give me a chance at getting favourable results.

“A young woman is naked before you, expecting sexual intercourse.”  I tried imagining this but it was impossible.

After a minute the doctor let out a sad sigh.  “A woman is performing oral sex on you.”  Oh, that would be nice, but try as I might I just couldn’t imagine it being true.

The doctor's concern was evident in her voice as she said “What if you perform oral sex on her?”

Oh!  A slight twitch.

“Ah ha” exclaimed the doctor.  She then said “imagine watching the woman having sex...”  Twitch.  “With a black man...”  Twitch.  “The woman is your wife.” Twitch.  “You are serving as their sissy maid.”  Twitch, twitch, twitch!

“Very good.”  I could see I was almost fully erect.  Maybe I was just pleased with making the Doctor happy.

“Well” she continued, after making some notes “looks like you’re ready to be strung up by your balls.”

What?

Help!

Seeing my look of horror the doctor merely pointed at my clitty which was fully erect, as hard as can be, just like a little pin.  I think she was smiling.

Dear Diary – Day Twenty Four

The next day I found myself in a hospital bed, safely secured in, being attended to by Nurse Eleanor.

I was sore and bruised but nothing seemed overly damaged except...

“Yes, that was rather mean of her to do that, stomp on your delicate little maggot.  I’ve saved your balls, eh testicles, for now...Which is good as she’s coming back to string you up by them.”

Nurse Eleanor smiled at my confused look of horror and anticipation.

“But your dick, eh penis, um, you know what I mean... Well, only time will tell.  Amputation might be necessary, but for now we’ll just keep it tightly bandaged up and hope gangrene sets in, eh, I mean doesn’t set in.”  Nurse Eleanor laughed off her mistake.

“You just lay there and get some rest.  You’re not going anywhere.” 

Dear Diary – Day Twenty Three

The next day found me huddled under the smelly blankets in this dirty pit.  At least I could stretch out, just.  The dirt floor was more dust so it was at least soft, but I’m sure I looked a mess.  Worse I was worried my bucket was getting rather full.

And I was bored. 

And I was scared.

At times I could hear noises and possibly voices.

I practised my yoga and meditation and that helped.

It was while I was doing my happy baby position that I heard a female voice say “Get it out.”  I looked up but the midday sun made it too bright for me to see anything.  The grate opened and a ladder was lowered.  I didn’t hesitate to climb it, happily leaving my filthy blankets behind; keen to emerge into the warm sun like some grub or insect breaking out from the dirt after a long incubation.

No sooner had my head appeared and before I could even blink my eyes, a bag or hood was placed over my head and I was hauled out.  I stood there naked as I felt someone prod me.  “Skinny bitch, this one.  Let’s see if it’s got any fight in it.  Bring it.”  And with that I was pushed along, a strong hand gripping my arm to stop me from falling.

I was man sissy handled up some stairs like I was a rag doll.  The hood was removed and I was in a room of some sort.  It was bare of decoration, but quiet large.  There was good lighting.  Mistress Eleanor was there wearing a stunning red dress that flared out.  She held some camera equipment along with a camera device on a tripod.  She paid me no attention.

It was the other woman in black dress that was looking at me, sizing me up.  “Sissy, huh?”  It was some kind of question.  I nodded, more in fear than answer.

She laughed and started to take off her dress.  She was almost naked underneath, no bra, just tiny black panties and lace topped thigh high stockings.  She kept her black pumps on, but was holding some kind of crop in her hands along with what looked like a collar and leash.  Now I was afraid.

“Hit me” she commanded.  I shook my head.  I could never hit a woman.

“Come on faggot, hit me...” She started to taunt me, cruelly trying to goad me with words.  I slumped in the corner and she came over and put the collar around my neck, fastening it tightly.

“You’re pathetic” she spat as she slapped my face.  

Then she started jerking me about using the collar and leash,

 forcing me to go where ever she wanted.  

She pushed me over and kneed me in the back and then kicked my butt.  

She didn’t hold back,  She was genuinely angry.

Dragging my face up she again started to berate me.  

I was useless, a fucking embarrassment.  

Not fit to live.  A worthless piece of shit.  

A maggot.  A disgusting filthy sissy cunt.

I could only agree.  

She continued to beat and hit and kick me.  

I was being beaten up by a girl and I was loving it.

Dear Diary - Day Twenty Two

I found myself in the back of a car.  With my dress up and over my head I felt like I was in a sack from the waste up.  Below the waist were just my frilly panties, fishnets and high heels.  I felt exposed.

Strong hands had put me here and fastened a seat belt around me.  Someone sat next to me.  Their large hand rested on my thigh, its presence both threatening and comforting.  I tried to relax by practising my yoga breathing technique.  Pause.  Breath in 5,4,3,2,1.  Pause.  Breath out 8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1.  Pause.

The voices sounded deep and masculine.  Possibly Jamaican?  Everything was muffled under my skirt.

The car journey seemed to take a long time, I had no idea where we were when the car finally came to a stop and I was bundled out.  I could feel the cool air on my legs, but then the real nightmare began.

I was stripped.

I mean all my clothes cut off me.  Everything.  A bright light was shined in my eyes, blinding me.  Naked I was pushed forward, spun round, almost fell, was grabbed again and shoved along until I was picked up and lowered into a pit.

There was a clang as something metal closed.   

There was just dirt.

I was alone.

Slowly some limited vision came back.  There was a metal grill above me, silhouetted in the moonlight.  It must be getting near morning.  There were some blankets on the floor, but I could sense they weren’t very clean.  There was a bucket in the corner and I guess that was to serve as a toilet.

About midday a bottle of water and loaf of bread was dropped down through the grate.  If I hadn’t been hungry and thirsty...

And I was left there all day. 

And I wasn’t very happy.

And I don't know what's going to happen to me, but I don't think it's going to be good...

Dear Diary - Day Twenty One

Today I was informed I was to serve at another one of Mistress Eleanor’s dinner parties, although this was just to be a small affair.  Cook seemed to know who the guests were and said one was to get a special dish.  The menu seemed simple enough, pan fried salmon and a Greek salad.  There was an individual blueberry pie for dessert, but just one. 

Cook explained I had to help her make the cream for the pie.  But I was just confused when she handed me a wooden spoon.  Then, before I knew what was happening she removed her knickers and lay back on the table spreading her legs.  Oh I thought, she wants me to go down on her again. 

“No you silly sissy, beat me with the spoon.” 

“What?”  I almost lost my composure and nearly forgot my manners.  “Sorry, Ma’am, you want me to do what?” 

PS glared at me.  “You heard, now get on with it.” 

Tentatively I gave her a playful smack with the spoon.

“Harder” she grunted.

I hit her again, watching her flesh wobble like jelly in response to the blow.  Her sex seemed to quiver, pleading with me, begging.

“Again... More... Harder...”  After each blow with the spoon PS grunted for me to increase the force and pace.  I didn’t want to hurt her, but I could tell by her breathing that she was enjoying this.  I was shocked. 

If that was not enough I was even more shocked after she had a series of massive orgasms.

I stood there silently, mesmerised by the sight of her now puffed up and swollen cunt.  I really wanted to lick it, but she snapped at me “No, not for the licks of you”.  I did my best to hide my hurt feelings and watched in amazement as she scooped what really did look like cream from inside her abused cunt.  She transferred it to a little dish and just grunted that it was for the pie.

Well, if that wasn’t enough I was horrified to find that Mistress Eleanor’s guests were my ex-wife and that fucking useless arsehole, blue maggot.  As I served drinks it was apparent he was trying to sleaze his way on to my ex-wife.  Worse she was flirting with him, leading him on.  And fuck me he wants to borrow money to build a wall or something.

I have to say serving drinks in that company was the hardest think I ever thought possible.  I had to smile, be courteous, attentive and submissive.  Luckily my training stood the test, even when BM put his hand up my skirt and gave my bottom a painful pinch.  One time my corset didn’t save me.  My ex-wife had seen how I’d squirmed and told me “Boys will be boys, not that you’d know.” 

“But” I silently mouthed at her.  “He comes from a different generation” she explained, talking about BM as if he wasn’t there.  He just leered at me.  “Take it as a compliment” he said, licking his lips and mouthing at me “Give us a blow job”. 

I looked at Mistress Eleanor.  “You should be used to it” she smiled.  And damn, as if that was an invitation, he did it again.  Harder if anything.

“He’s drunk” my ex-wife gave as an excuse, before adding that it was my fault for serving him drinks.

I wanted to say something to Mistress Eleanor, but before I could say anything she told me to “Let it go.”  My face must have registered my concern.  “He wouldn’t dare do it to a real woman, but a sissy is fair game, expected really.”  I felt strangely reassured by that.

“And as for giving him a blow job...” Mistress Eleanor paused, both her and my ex-wife savouring the look of horror on my face.  “It was a poorly worded joke, but...”  Again she paused and I felt sick.  “You chose to get offended.”

I curtseyed.  It was my fault.  I was dismissed.

When I returned to serve main meal they were seated and Mistress Eleanor asked my ex-wife what was the worst sex she’d ever had.  She looked at me.  “It was the disappointment really.  He’d given me a wonderful relaxing massage.  Gone down on me for ages...  I lost track of the orgasms.  But I was really looking forward to a good fuck.  Well, he had trouble getting an erection.  A soft little thing was rubbing against my pussy and while that felt nice I wanted something big inside.”  My ex giggled before going on.  “Well I asked if he was in yet.  Oh my, that did the trick and he got hard and started to poke and prod me, as if knocking at the door, just peeking his head round the corner to see if it was safe to come in.  I told him that I couldn’t feel him and just like that he came.  A one inch, one second fuck!”

“Oh how dreadful” Mistress Eleanor consoled my ex-wife.  Even BM was expressing sympathy, a bit too much in my opinion, all of it fake and false.  Worse, I saw that his hand was on her thigh.  I shuddered and left the room, glad that dinner was served.

It didn’t help that I had to tell cook all about it.  I told her how bad I felt and she said it’s your wife I feel sorry for, that I was pathetic.

After an allotted time I was sent back upstairs with the mini blueberry pie and special cream which cook had told me was for BM.  Good I thought.  I wish I could have stayed to watch him eat it, but I was sent away with the dirty plates.

When I got back to the kitchen cook was gone.  No sooner had I put down the tray my skirt was pulled up and up, trapping my arms and then covering my head, plunging me into darkness making it hard for me to breathe or cry out.  I tried struggling but was lifted up and carried off, just like a damsel in distress.

HELP!

Dear Diary – Day Twenty

My ex-wife has said if I’m to be her maid she wants a French sissy maid, so...

Je suis une fille

I also learnt that “going down” is what is expected regardless and shouldn’t expect any reciprocation.

But you never know... I keep on hoping.  

However I really enjoy being able to forego my pleasure while giving all my focus to my partner who has trusted me with this very important and intimate task.  Anyone who wants to perform oral sex is putting their partner above themselves.  It is easy for me to revel and enjoy this selfless act.  I love spending time driving my superior wild with sexual pleasure without receiving anything in return.  You never know, I might reap a few rewards from performing this deed, beyond the warm inner glow of a job well down and cleansing facial of pussy juice.

I also learnt if you don’t use lube it hurts.

Lots of lesson.  I knew these things and only that last one caught me out and spoilt the big favour, my greater reward.

Dear Diary - Day Nineteen

Should I be worried?  It’s been a few days since my date and I have been hoping that PS would call me.  A bit silly I know as I’m not allowed a phone, plus I see her just about every day in the kitchen.  I’ve been trying to drop hints, but she just seems oblivious to them.  Maybe she is just being professional, but still...  I have needs.  I want her to fuck me again. 

Oh dear.  Does that make me a slut? 

Maybe she doesn’t respect me, given I was such an easy conquest for her. 

Oh why did I let her fuck me on our first date?  I couldn’t resist and I thought it was what she wanted, expected, demanded.  How could I not let her have her way with me?

And it was so nice. So very, very nice.

Oh well, ...  Maybe I can try hypnotising her?  Although it doesn’t seem to be working for me. 

I am a good girl.  I cannot resist.  I must obey. 

I am a good girl.  I cannot resist.  I must obey.

I am a good girl.  I cannot resist.  I must obey.

I am a good girl.  I cannot resist.  I must obey.

I am a good girl.  I cannot resist.  I must obey.

Dear Diary – Day Eighteen

More Twitter drudgery and housework, still, it’s not so bad I guess.  Mustn’t grumble, no one’s listening.

Then I remembered in my room was a music player and head phones with instructions that if I was having problem, just lay down and listen to this self help Hypnotic Hypnosis  recording.  Seems easy enough.  

There was a warning sticker: 

DANGEROUS HYPNOSIS FEMINIZATION FILE CURSE BEWARE!!! 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  

But that’s just one of those stand legal mumbo jumbo fine print silly things that I’m not even going to bother reading.  I stopped at second word.  Rubbish, how can hypnosis be dangerous to a strong minded person like me?

Well, I’ve listened to it twice now.  Doesn’t seem to have any effect on me as I expected, but maybe that’s because I’m a submissive girl.  I will listen to again as it was relaxing, reassuring, reaffirming.  Maybe it would be good to listen to it each day?

Dear Diary – Day Seventeen

After the excitement things have returned to domestic drudgery.  Washing up, making beds, washing clothes, tidying up, sorting things, doing menial Twitter work.  Waiting.

There seems to be a tension in the air, a weighing of pros and cons, a balancing of scales.  What would I know?

Dear Diary – Day Sixteen

Oh my, dear, dear diary my head is still spinning.  It’s just like I was sixteen and went on my first date.

I suppose the wait had put me in a bit of an emotional state and I was just so relieved to see PS that, well, all I can say is good thing for chastity.

PS looked lovely, she’d had her hair done and was wearing some makeup, although nowhere near as elaborately as Mistress Eleanor had done my hair and face.  PS was also dressed in a nice blouse and black pants and flats.  I was embarrassed by my height and even though PS’ blouse was bright it faded in comparison to my colourful frock.  PS didn’t seem to mind and if anything seemed to be very pleased in how I was turned out.

On the ride out we both sat in the back and she put her hand on my knee and let it travel up my thigh till by the time  we got to our destination she had my hem pushed up exposing my stocking tops.  I should have stopped her, but it felt so nice feeling her hand on my leg.  Luckily I was able to rearrange myself before getting out.

Once we got to our table PS teased me about how heads had been turning as people checked me out.  I blushed and was glad we had a table off to the side.

PS ordered for me, which was unexpected.  I was to have the vegetable consommé followed by the char grilled prawns with a tartar dipping sauce.  No dessert, no wine (I would have died for just a single glass of rosé).  PS said I had to watch my figure as she liked a skinny bitch.  I said at least she wasn’t trying to get me drunk and she replied that she didn’t need to and I blushed as I sipped my sparkling water.  For herself PS ordered the mini tartlets for an entree to be followed by Beef Wellington with an Eton Mess for dessert.  She was drinking soda.  It was great to see her with such a good appetite.

The food was wonderful and the conversation was delightful.  PS told me as I was just about to pop a prawn in my mouth that they were the maggots of the sea.  Oh my gosh.  I immediately blushed and then quickly finished putting the prawn in my mouth so it didn’t drip cum down my front.  But I was too bothered to chew and just held it in my mouth as PS looked at me a laughed “Your expression is priceless!”  She also said she noticed how much I was enjoying the dipping sauce.  Dripping sauce more like if I wasn’t careful.

As I watched PS eat her dessert I was a bit jealous as it looked nice, even if a bit messy.  She told me it was just delicious and asked if I was still hungry.  I said yes and she said good.  I was going to pull a face, but her smile really won me and my heart melted.

After letting our dinner settle PS took me upstairs where there was a bar and a dance floor.  It was quiet and so we had a slow dance together.  Given out height differences, I had my arms around her neck while she had her hands around my waist, regularly letting them slip down to squeeze my bottom or thighs.  It made me feel giddy and wasn’t helped by how she’d mash her chest into me.  The combination of her touch, the intimacy of our contact, the smell of her hair and perfume, the music and movement as we gently swayed around the dance floor really was intoxicating and I was glad she had not let me have any wine.

When the tempo picked up she told me to keep dancing while she went and sat down to watch.

Oh my gosh.  Luckily there were a few others on the dance floor and I could kind of follow their lead.  It helped to have a swishy dress and I ended up doing a bit of a can can thing before she came back onto the floor to grab me, telling me off, in a mock voice, for showing off my knickers.  Eek, remembering how frilly they were I blushed and muttered that I hoped no one had seen them.  PS said she’d seen them and it was enough for her to know I was one of those kinds of girls who like to flash their undies.  The way she carried on, even though I knew it was only pretending, I was sure I was looking at another spanking.

Back in our transport, her hand was back on my thigh, above my stockings resting on my bare flesh, my frock was pushed up and anyone looking would have got an eyeful for sure.  Lucky it was dark.

PS asked me if I expected to fuck on a first date.  I said oh no and that I couldn’t and that made her laugh and she said that she could and would.

And, dear diary, all modesty permits me to say is that she did.  She got my knickers down round my ankles with hardly any effort although I did try and resist for a few seconds.  Then she bent me over her bed and had her wicked way with me.  I’m a bit sore, but I’m in love.  

Dear Diary – Day Fifteen Bis

Well, this sucks.  As time goes on I start to feel that I’ve been stood up.  Mistress had me ready at 5:30 for 6 and so I was already waiting.  But 6 became 6:30 and fashionably late had long passed as an excuse and I was getting worried.  Had my date had an accident?  Was she okay?  Surely she would contact me? 

Nothing.  Silence.  Poop!

Then I started to think this was just some mean trick they were playing on me.  All of them scheming together.  Hmpff!

But if that was the case why had Mistress Eleanor put so much time in to getting me ready?

It was with this toxic mix of thoughts swimming around in the void of my mind that started to drag me under and drown me in fetid emotions of dismay, abandonment and misery.

No.  Look on the bright side.  I was all dressed up in these lovely clothes .  I got frocked, I giggled.  So then I stood up and did some little swishy twirls from side to side and wiggled my hips and acted coy and then nearly jumped out of my corset as I heard PS say “You ready then, girlie?”  Oh my, how long had she been there watching me? 

Eek.  Time to go!

Dear Diary – Day Fifteen

After all the ups and downs of the past two weeks a date with PS sounded a wonderful release.  I immediately thought that it would be a straight date, silly me.  It was to be as besties. Girl besties.

Being put in the friend zone was typical for me, and I suppose I expected nothing else if I was being realistic, but well, I had let my imagination get away a bit.

Still, it was to be dinner and a dance.  Dinner sounded good, but I’m not sure about the dancing?  In high heels?  Eek!

Mistress Eleanor had me bathe and scrubbed pink and totally hairless.  She said I looked like a horrible worm, which reminded her...

Not taking any chances the chastity device was fitted first.  Mistress commented that it would soon be time to go to a smaller size.  I’m not sure if that is good or bad news.

Then there was a corset which she pulled in tight, narrowing my waist but thankfully giving support to my heavy DD bosom, which, while fake, was not nearly the size of PS’ bust.  I was not sure if this was good or bad either.  My natural little B cup boobies felt squashed and deflated, a bit like my ego.

Beautiful sheer stockings attached to suspenders on the corset.  I wiggled my painted toenails in delight and was about to slip my feet into my heels when Mistress reminded me that panties go on first.  Silly me.  She gave me a pair of very frilly panties to wear.  Oh dear, I hope no one see me in these.  Just putting them on had me blushing the same colour.

I had to sit very still while Mistress applied make-up, fixed what I can only say was an elaborate wig and finished me off with various items of costume jewellery, including a choker.  I know applying lipstick to me is no different to applying lipstick to a pig, but, looking in the mirror I had to say I looked rather attractive.  Perhaps a bit showy, well, very showy.  “Mutton dressed as lamb” sprang to mind, but at least I was dressed.  Eh...

Where is my dress?  I looked at Mistress Eleanor who stood admiring her handiwork.  “Ready?” she asked.  Oh no, I can’t go out like this, just in undies, nice undies, but still undies.  I suppose people drop their kids off at school in their pyjamas these days so going to dinner in your undies might be the new thing.  I nodded okay.

“Well, let’s get you frocked.”  Relief, horror and shock washed through me as Mistress Eleanor presented me with the most beautiful dress to wear.  I was lucky to have her to help me get into it and I would sure need help getting out of it.  I loved it.  It was swishy and Mistress had me do some twirls which I finished with a proper curtsey as I said thank you.

Dear Diary – Day Fourteen

The highlight of the day was being visited by my wife.  She told me I’m to refer to her as my ex-wife, but that we will still be friends.  She also told me that she intends to employ me as her sissy maid and possibly even sissy secretary once my training is completed.  She also said that her niece has agreed to contribute money towards my training as a Xmas present.  My ex-wife thought that was very nice of her niece and I had to agree that it was a lovely present although I was a bit apprehensive about knowing that her niece knew I was being trained as a sissy maid.  Don’t be silly, is all my ex-wife told me, she thinks you’ll make an excellent sissy maid and when I told her about you being a sissy secretary she thought that was wonderful and that she might have an employment opportunity for you.  She says where she works they are always turning over secretaries due to the clients sweeping them off their feet.  That wouldn’t be a problem with you, sweetie.  I squirmed uncomfortably at this and its implications, both good and bad.

My ex-wife congratulated me on the two week’s training I had already completed and that she understood Mistress Eleanor was pleased with my behaviour.  She went on to say that she had noticed a marked improvement in me, that I was more obedient, submissive and docile; all a good characteristics in a sissy.

Her final comment to me was that she had heard PS wanted to take me out on a date.

Dear Diary - Day Thirteen

The smarting in my bottom faded after a bit.  When I checked it in the mirror last night before turning in at my curfew time I couldn’t see any bruises.  PS has said she was going to make it blue to match my lips.  To my mind it did look like I had rosy cheeks and I wiggled my bottom to make it jiggle.  It was almost as if I was happy.

No, no, no. 

Today I found out that the physical effects of being spanked might have faded, but the mental ones, the emotional ones did not.  I felt more subservient to Mistress Eleanor, PS and all women than ever before.  I had been disciplined.  Corrected.  Instructed.  It was almost as if I felt proud.

No, no, no.

Thinking about it, and mindlessly doing Twitter tasks or housework gives me plenty of time to think, my constant attempts to deny what I was truly feeling, trying to hide my submissive, sissy nature, was foolish.  But I did enjoy it.

Yes, yes, yes.

No, no, no.

I mean the attempts to deny.  That I enjoyed.  Pretending to be a man.  Giggle.  That was fun.  Maybe impossible, but still a real challenge.

Being a Sunday the house was quiet.  Mistress had a leisurely start to the day.  I served as best I could, effectively being invisible, which I felt would be what would please Mistress Eleanor.  PS was busy planning the week ahead.  I helped where I could.  I am sure she could sense my increased level of obedience, perhaps even recognising that I would attempt to do tasks unbidden.  That these went, I felt, unnoticed, well, that just increased the humiliation, the frustration.  And I sure am frustrated.

Yes, yes, yes!

Dear Diary - Day Twelve

"Why are your lips blue Marcia?"  PS was insistent, her physical bulk blocking any hope I had of running and hiding, not that running in heels was an option.  Slowly I let her coax it out of me, something she enjoyed doing.  Go on.  What happened next? Really.  And... Or just pausing and letting an embarrassing silence engulf me so that I needed to say more to fill the space she had lured me into.  She got out all the details and more.  She even made me say that I enjoyed sucking cock.  And when I'd said that she started laughing.  It was a suppressed laugh that started to erupt, to boil over, to cum, to ejaculate all over me.  A great belly laugh.  A laugh mixing scorn, derision, pity and most of all aimed at me, what I'd done and how I felt about it.  And she just wouldn't stop laughing and it got louder and louder and I felt like crying, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Then Mistress Eleanor was there, restoring order.  She told PS to fetch the cane.  I saw fear mixed with excitement in PS' eyes.  Mistress had PS strip and bend over the table.  Swish. Sting.  Squeal.  Mistress caned PS' enormous backside, angry red welts appearing.

"Please Mistress Eleanor, please stop, please."

"Nonsense" came her reply.

"But it's not..."

"She's enjoying this you imbecile!"  Mistress Eleanor silenced my pleas.  And I noticed PS was trying to hump the table edge now, her thighs glistening and trembling.  Oh my I then realised what was happening, PS was having an orgasm.

"It was my fault PS was laughing, Mistress.  I was the cause."  I felt quiet stupid saying this now.  My voice was small and weak, just how I felt.

Mistress looked at me as PS attempted to regain her composure and get dressed.

"So you expect to be punished, do you Marcia?"

The look of horror would have answered her question, but I knew what was expected of me.

I curtsied and said "If I have in any way displeased You, Mistress, then please correct me as You see fit."  I then stood, head bowed awaiting my fate.

Mistress laughed.  "Well I for one really enjoyed that."  She flexed her arm, still holding the cane.

"And I really enjoyed it too." PS smiled as I looked at her with a mixture of embarrassment and astonishment.

Still laughing, Mistress announced that no correction was needed.  Of course she added "this time" to the end of statement.  "In fact you are to be rewarded.  PS, give this naughty little blue lipped cocksucker a spanking."

Eek.

And that gentle reader, is why I am kneeling to write this diary entry and not sitting down.

Dear Diary – Day Eleven

It was as if my wife had timed her announcement to coincide with my curfew.  Having to accept a curfew is bad enough, I’m effectively being put to bed at nine each night.  Still I guess I understand why, doesn’t mean I have to like it though; being treated like I’m feeble minded is so demeaning. 

But this time is was particularly humiliating being sent from the room so the adults could have a private conversation and hear all the juicy details about how my wife got pregnant as I knew for sure it wasn’t mine.   

Still, an early night after the early start to THAT day was much appreciated.  That was until I looked in the little mirror in my tiny room as I was about to clean my face and saw my blue lips.  I blushed.

Needless to say, no matter how hard I scrubbed my lips stayed blue, indelible blue.

And worse, it reminded me that at least blue maggot had got some oral pleasure, even if only for a minute, I’d had nothing.

And much worse some lucky guy had impregnated my wife.  He’d certainly cum, but not me, never me.  Not fair.

So I had a sulky, pouty, moody sleep.

At least as I started the day I thought it couldn’t get any worse. 

Cook came into the kitchen as I was busy finishing washing up.  She seemed super happy and I assumed had enjoyed her day off, but no, she had news.  Miss Kaye was getting married.

What?  It took me a while to process.  Cook just stood there looking at me watching the waves of emotion flow though me.  Confusion.  Realisation that it’s my wife she’s referring to.  Horror.  Confusion.  How?  Realisation: de facto relationships aren’t a commitment.  There wouldn’t even be a divorce.  My wife?  I had been living in some alternative universe.  But... But she always said to refer to her as my wife.  I tried explaining this to PS, but I found it so humiliating.  She started to laugh and said it was too funny, that she wasn’t surprised at all.  But then she suddenly switched and her derision turned to pity.  Poor pet she called me.  I didn’t know where to look.  Best keep busy.  I blinked, my eyes wet, just like my nasty maggot gets wet with precum, in anticipation of tears.  I blushed again and tried to smile.  I did smile, even if it might have been a bit forced.  PS seemed pleased and called me “Good girl”.

As I moved past her she gave my bottom a playful swat.  I almost toppled off my heels.  PS doesn’t know her own strength.  She grabbed me to steady me and I thought she was going to kiss me, but then she said “Why are your lips blue, Marcia?”

Dear Diary – Day Ten

Today I was in for a shock.

It all started when my alarm went off at four in the morning.  Mistress Eleanor controls when my alarm goes off, but it still was very early.  I quickly washed and dressed, doing my toilet as best I could in my cramped accommodation under the stairs.  The door to my cupboard, as that was what my room effectively was, no more than a closet, was electronically controlled by Mistress as well and released at a time associated with the alarm.  It looked like I was in for a busy day.  I know it would be no good to grumble, not that I would dream of doing so, but still, I, more than most, need my beauty sleep.

The instruction was simple enough; I was to clean the dungeon.  Actually I didn’t know Mistress Eleanor’s house had such a thing, but I wasn’t surprised.  It was all rather theatrical except that as I looked at the various things they were all real enough, no make believe fairy tale dungeon here, this was the real thing.  It was scary.  It was a mess.  I can see why I had to start so early.  I did my best to put things away, everything seemed to have a place.  I dusted and polished.  Did I say there was a lot of stuff?  There was.  The last thing was mopping the floor.  Strangely I felt compelled to do this on my hands and knees.

Somehow I managed a bit of fruit for breakfast before giving the house a quick tidy up ready for an important visitor who I was told, was expected at 9.  And I was there to greet her, trying to look neat and professional.  Her name was Miss Legs and I feared she took an instant dislike to me. 

While serving refreshments I was careful to keep my eyes averted, but it was hard, Miss Legs did have very nice legs.  

With Mistress Eleanor she was discussing a session they planned for midday.  I avoided eavesdropping which might have been a mistake.

Anyway, with Mistress Eleanor’s specific instructions and guidance I helped the two ladies get ready.  While normally I would have treated this as an opportunity to ogle, I kept myself very respectful and was mainly fetching and folding and removing various items of apparel, some of which, indeed most if not all of it made me very jealous that I was not allowed to wear such fine things or powerful things.

Simultaneously we all looked at the clock: midday.  The doorbell chimed.  No tradesman’s entrance for this caller or victim as I think I heard one of the ladies call him.  I turned to go to the door, but Mistress told me to wait and waved her foot at me to stand down.  

The clock ticked.  Five minutes passed and the bell rang again.  “Go” was the simple command that had me leave to answer the door.

Oh my gosh, if it wasn’t you know who from that side of British politics it was a damn good likeness, a spitting image as they used to say.  Why was I not surprised when he got down on the front step in his posh suit, muttering that his name was blue maggot and calling me Miss and that he was expected as he proceeded to crawl into the house?  What a maggot!  I felt like kicking him as he slithered past.

Down he crept; he knew the way, down to dungeon. 

Miss Legs and Mistress Eleanor strode over him, stepping on him, kicking him somewhat cruelly.  I longed to cheer them on, but kept quiet.

As he neared the dungeon door Miss Legs told him to strip.  It was funny watching him wriggle about, trying to take off his clothes, on my nice clean floor – if I’d have known I would have left a dirty patch, with Mistress’ permission of course.  Mistress Eleanor told me to pick up his things and put them in the outside garbage bin.   As I picked up the last item I noticed his tiny penis was actually blue.  None of my business I thought as I took his things and pushed them in down into the bin, making sure they got mixed in with all the other rubbish.   

After that little thrill, I busied myself with remaining housework, which was mainly clearing away the spent refreshments and setting the formal table for dinner and starting to prepare the various courses.  Cook was having a day off but had prepared a number of things and left detailed instructions.

A few hours passed, a time which was punctuated by faint screams, and then I was summoned.  With some trepidation I went down into the dungeon.  Mistress Eleanor looked at me and smiled.  “We need your help, Marcia” she said sweetly.  

“Yes Ma’am” I curtsied on full alert.  

“Miss Legs tells me blue maggot here expects relief and we don’t want to disappoint him.”  I looked at Miss Legs trying to work out what was required.  I then snuck a glance blue maggot and was horrified to see his blue penis twitching in some semblance of an erection.  

“Yes, we think that is only fair after all the trouble he has gone to in so rightly fucking the country.”  Fair I thought?  Lies, fucks us up and then leaves.  

“We said he could have anything, and do you know what he asked for Marcia?”  

“No Ma’am?” Oh dear I was getting worried...

“A blow job” said Mistress Eleanor.

“A head job” said Miss Legs.

Then in unison they said “He wants his filthy disgusting maggot sucked off.”  I didn’t like the way they were looking at me.

Mistress Eleanor smiled at me. 

Miss Legs expected to hear me plead and beg.

I went and did it.

No, no, no.  But I’m such a sissy a mean word or look from Mistress Eleanor would have me in tears.  I couldn’t imagine not doing my best to please her in this dungeon with all its various instruments of torture.  I also guessed that a blow job from someone like me would be the last thing he wanted.  On second thoughts, probably not.  The dirty bugger!

So yes I did it.  He never got really hard and Mistress Eleanor told me to stop after about a minute, telling him that was all he was going to get for now.

As I went to leave Miss Legs stopped me, saying the poor sissy has smudged her makeup.  She told me to close my eyes while she fixed me up, reapplying my lip gloss as she had me pucker up for her.

It wasn’t till much later that I found she had in fact applied dye to my lips which were now the same colour as blue maggot’s maggot.

That was probably the best part of the day, as you see dear diary, as I served dinner to Miss Legs and Mistress Eleanor I found that they had been joined by a third companion: my wife.

It was then she announced that she was pregnant.